


Use

by QixxiQ



Category: The Alienist (TV)
Genre: Angst, Bathing/Washing, Careful Sex Because Partner Is Bruised, Character crying in their sleep, Character is Injured while Protecting Another, Downplaying Trauma, Drinking to Cope, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Prickly Relationship Between Comforter and Comfortee, Provoking rapist into raping them instead, Rape, handjob
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-13
Updated: 2019-05-13
Packaged: 2020-03-02 11:41:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18810184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QixxiQ/pseuds/QixxiQ
Summary: The only real difference, John thinks abstractly while his mind paints a detailed picture of his afternoon debauchery, between high society and the city’s underbelly is that one has better lighting. There are no dark corners here, no shadows to contort and deform faces into ghoulish, unidentifiable masks… John can see every inch of the room clearly, can see every face. It does him no real service, the natural lighting streaming cheerfully through the window will only allow whatever nightmares that will come from this to be vivid and sharp, permanently seared into John’s consciousness.





	Use

**Author's Note:**

  * For [days4daisy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/days4daisy/gifts).



When Laszlo had invited John to join him on an overnight trip to Baltimore John had happily entertained the thought that it was a friendly excursion, more casual and carefree than their usual fare.

It was not to be.

“Loaned out” is how Laszlo puts it casually over morning coffee after they disembark from the train. John silently stews over this, his fingers running circles around the edge of his cup. He idly wonders if Roosevelt had the hopes of another city taking Laszlo off his hands. Either way, Laszlo makes it sound like John should have known like he somehow should have obviously intuned that their trip was entirely work related. And it doesn’t seem like it had even occurred to Laszlo to tell him any of this before they left, effectively trapping him in god knows what kind of grisly macabre horrors. 

The grisly macabre horror turns out to be boredom. Laszlo drags John with him to endless meetings with the mayor, the police commissioner, the police chief, and, finally, small bevy of detectives.

“I’m not sure if their police force is educated or dedicated enough,” Laszlo says to John during a lull between one meeting and the next, leaning close so that no one else overhears.

“And New York’s is?” He sends a withering glance toward Laszlo who grins as though they've shared a private joke.

It’s one of the few exchanges they've had all day even though Laszlo has kept John close to him, warmly introducing him to everyone as though John’s mere presence was enough to ingratiate Laszlo and his suggestions to the widely uninterested police department. 

“What are your plans for the rest of the day?”, he asks. 

It’s such an abrupt change John nearly gets whiplash. “Am I free to choose now?”

“Of course, John.” Laszlo tilts his head, lips quirking in an almost smile, bemused that John would think any differently.

“I thought, perhaps, we’d tour the city.”

Laszlo nods, seemingly pleased with John’s choice. “I’m sure you’ll enjoy yourself.”

“And you won’t?” John’s fingers drum against his pant leg as he watches Laszlo’s eyebrows crease.

“I’ve been invited to give a lecture at the university this afternoon.”

“And you don’t want me along for that too?” 

Either Laszlo misses or decides to ignore John’s haughty tone. “I didn’t think you’d be interested in attending lectures, John.” He pauses and then graciously adds, “You’re welcome to join me if you wish.”

John doesn’t wish. He has no interest in falling asleep in the back of a college hall while Laszlo drones on about things he barely follows on the best days. He’s had no interest in anything they’ve done so far. “The why invite me here at all?” He’s teetering on the edge of a monumental snit.

“I thought you might prove yourself useful to me,” Laszlo says this without a single shred of self-awareness. 

A muscle in John’s jaw twitches, awash with feeling a bit like a well-worn piece of comfort clothing at the moment. “And now that you’re done with me I should just make myself scarce for the rest of the trip.” He doesn’t mean how it comes out, shrilly inconvenienced and ungracious like he’s the one incapable of spending time alone in an unfamiliar city.

Laszlo looks absolutely bewildered by John’s outburst and a small laugh bubbles past his lips as he shakes his head at John’s ridiculousness. “Don’t be a child. We’ve been invited to a dinner with the mayor tonight. He wants to discuss my methods further before we leave tomorrow.”

John leaves Laszlo standing there. He’s not exactly storming out, more like quickly leaving in a dignified manner. 

 

He makes a wrong turn while leaving the station and ends up walking into a room with a few officers huddled together. He recognizes some of them as detectives from their earlier meeting. John hears hushed snippets of what they're discussing and it freezes him to the spot. 

He hadn't thought that Laszlo ideas had gone over this badly. He takes a step to slip out of the room, but his back collides with an officer who's appeared behind him.

“He’s with that alienist," the man behind him says.

Their heads swivel up in unison and there's something so terrible and grim in their features that it makes John feel like a deer locked in the sights of a pack of wolves.

He pulls his back straighter and plasters a calm smile on his face. “Gentlemen.” He nods at them.

"How much did he hear?" One of the detectives asks. 

"Enough to know that you're a disgrace to your uniform," John spits out the insult before he had time to think.

“Well then,” another detective speaks, casual but with an underlying steel that causes John’s stomach to curl, a taut cord inside him vibrating and thrumming with an instinctual panic.

There's the click of a door being shut and then he's unceremoniously shoved against the wall. His head bounces off the hard surface and his vision greys momentarily. As he tries to straighten himself out, sputtering indignantly, a hand latches around his neck. John's hands scrabble to find purchase around the steely arm of the man pinning him, wheezing as he tries to draw a breath in. 

The detective, John thinks he'd been introduced as Lewis Greene, sidles over. He leans close, studying John, and then a grin creeps across his face. "You really got us, " he laughs and the rest of the men join him.

Lewis leans away and glances at the officer holding John. The hand around his neck loosens and pulls away. 

John sags, pulling in deep, ragged breaths.

"See, " Lewis leans close to John. "we may be disgraces, but at least we're not know it alls who think we're better than people who are out there, doing the hard work."

"That's not--" John rubs his throat. "We were invited here… by your mayor, " he wheezes. He can guess by the way the meetings went that the police department here has little interest in implementing Laszlo’s methods, beyond either initial curiosity or on a recommendation from Roosevelt. "And we're leaving tomorrow."

Lewis considers this."Problem is,"he said thoughtfully. "I've promised my boys a bit of fun. That they could teach someone," he tilts John's head up by the chin. "to mind their own business."

He snaps fingers and one of the men produces a length of course rope. Lewis shrugs apologetically. "So, we're still going to have a word with your friend."

"Wait." Images of Laszlo being attacked, beaten and bloodied, forced to do unimaginable things, just for trying to help, for being who he was… "What about me?"

"What about you? You want to get in on this? We all saw how he dragged you around all day. Or maybe," Lewis leans close to John to start into his eyes. "Maybe you want this?" He dangles the rope infront of John. "Had a thrill over what you heard?"

John wants to deny it, wants to punch Lewis out, fight off his men, and then find Laszlo and get the hell out of this town. But he doesn't.

Lewis licks his lips as John stares him down. "You seem awfully eager to take his place." He shares a look over his shoulder with the rest of the men and the smile that spreads over the men's face sends a chill down John's spine.

Lewis places a hand on John’s shoulder and then eases it down John’s side.

John’s breath starts to quicken, sharp huffs that barely make it up his throat. His eyes widen as the hand dips lower, traveling down John’s front, working the button of his trousers free and slipping inside. John struggles, gasping at the unexpected intrusion, eyes wide. He shoves at Lewis when he starts to slide John's pants down.

One of the other detectives grabs John and pushes him to the ground. 

Lewis laughs. "It's okay boys. We’ll have our fun with his friend instead.” He grins at John, teeth shining in the light. “Should have been doing that to begin with.”

"Wait." John's practically on his knees, trousers bunched up around his thighs. Johns' throat works as he tries to force words out. His mouth is dry. "Not Laszlo." he chokes out, fear making the name breathy and reverent.

"Alright." Lewis grins amicably. "Since you're leaving tomorrow…" The boys behind him all smile and nod. "Sounds like a deal."

Someone hauls John up and pushes him over a table. A spark of new fear begins to pool in his belly when another man wraps the rope around his wrists, the rough rope tight and secure. John squeezes his eyes shut as Lewis takes up position behind him.

He reaches around and grabs at John’s limp penis. "Aren't you enjoying yourself?" he laughs and tugs roughly. "Don't worry. We'll make sure you do, won't we, boys?"

John tries not to make a sound and braces himself for what's to come.

The only real difference, John thinks abstractly while his mind paints a detailed picture of his afternoon debauchery, between high society and the city’s underbelly is that one has better lighting. There are no dark corners here, no shadows to contort and deform faces into ghoulish, unidentifiable masks… John can see every inch of the room clearly, can see every face. It does him no real service, the natural lighting streaming cheerfully through the window will only allow whatever nightmares that will come from this to be vivid and sharp, permanently seared into John’s consciousness.

 

When it's over they courteously drop him off just down from the mayor's. Lewis even makes sure John's collar is done up high enough to cover the red finger makes on his neck. John supposes he should be grateful.

What he is grateful for is standing in the sidewalk outside the mayor's home. Relief floods through John when he finally lays eyes on Laszlo. 

"Where have you been?" Laszlo frowns as John reaches him. "You weren't at the hotel. I thought…" he trails off as he looks John over.

John shifts under the scrutiny. "You thought I left?" He sniffs. "Just because you decided you didn't need me for an afternoon doesn't mean I couldn't find something to occupy my time with." He tries to ignore the crease between Laszlo’s eyebrows and the unhappy tightness around his mouth as they claim the steps to enter the opulent manor.

What John assumed would be a simple dinner is a sprawling and moderately fancy party.

A waiter carries a tray of drinks past them as they enter the main hall and John plucks one off. He tries to look casual as he downs it in a single swallow. Without any liquid the ice in the glass clinks against the side, a high-pitched noise that makes John’s teeth ache. He exchanges that glass for another full one when the waiter passes by again. 

Laszlo stares, mouth moving mindlessly before he finally looks away. "I understand that you've been bored by this trip, but I would appreciate it if while we’re here you wouldn't fall back onto . . . " he stops, perhaps, for one of the few times in his life, reconsidering the propriety of bluntness. Or perhaps he isn't entirely sure of the truth. 

John doesn't care. He's resigned himself to drinking the last few hours away, damn what Laszlo thinks. "Fall back into what, Laszlo?" John asks archly. 

Laszlo sighs. "Into your former habits and dalliances." 

John's fingers tighten so fiercely around the glass that its a wonder it doesn't shatter. 

"Though I see you've taken it to a physically, rather than mentally, punishing degree this time." His eyes are locked on John’s neck and the darkening bruising that his collar can’t quite hide. 

“My god, Laszlo.” He can taste the truth on his tongue and he presses his mouth into a tight, thin line to prevent it from escaping. The ice chatters against the glass as he raises his drink to his lips and the alcohol burns it’s way down his throat, drowning any words that threaten to spill out.

 

John spends the rest of the evening being as presentably numb as possible. He considers leaving, letting Laszlo think even worse of him, but he can't bring himself to do it.

He manages to make it through dinner that he doesn't eat and small talk that he rotely responds to and to the portion of the evening where everyone mills about. He aches in the worst ways and his alcoholic numbness is becoming more drunk than he was aiming for. John is wishing he could lie down, maybe sleep for a few hours, or a few years, when he realizes who Laszlo has struck up a conversation with.

John moves subtly, placing himself slightly in front of Laszlo. "I didn't expect to see you here." He takes a slow drink to cover the trembling of his voice. 

"I'm one of the mayor's most trusted detectives," Lewis Greene locks eyes with John. "Of course I would be here."

"You two know each other?" Laszlo asks, glancing between the two men.

Lewis puts a hand against John's lower back, pulling John closer to him. "We became really good friends this afternoon. Had a real interesting conversation about you and your work." 

He holds a hand out for Laszlo to shake. "It's a real shame you have to leave tomorrow." Lewis nods at John before disappearing back into the crowd of other guests. 

"I think I'd like to leave now."

Laszlo turns and raises his eyebrows at a pale John. 

That panicky thrumming is back shaking his insides. He tugs his collar up a little higher, conscious of the bruising that’s beginning to show and of Laszlo's eyes on him. "Please."

 

When they return to their hotel room John loudly announces that he’s going to take a bath and then all but locks himself away without saying another word to Laszlo. He sinks into the steaming water, scrubbing himself nearly raw in drunken finesse. The part of himself he thought would be the worst merely aches deeply, a dull throb if he angles himself the wrong way. His wrists have borne the brunt of the damage it seems, flesh scraped raw while he struggled against the bristled cord. There's a tinge of pink to the water and John doesn't bother to figure out where it's from.

“John?” Laszlo calls through the door and John ignores him. He calls again and then the door creaks open.

John nearly slips under the water at the brash impropriety as he moves to cover himself. ”For God’s sake, Laszlo.”

“I doubt you have anything I haven’t seen before, John,” Laszlo says kindly. They stare at each other for a heavy moment before Laszlo decides that he should explain himself. “I thought perhaps you had drowned.”

John sags deeper into the water, closing his eyes. “I could hardly be so lucky,” he mutters.

A minute passes, silent and still, and John assumes that Laszlo has left until there’s a feather-light brush of fingertips against his neck. It startles John so badly that roughly half the bath water ends up on the bathroom floor.

Laszlo’s hand hovers above the bruises on John’s neck, fitting his hand to the shape like he’s putting together pieces of a puzzle, slotting disparate ideas into place. John watches the calculation passing across Laszlo’s face. The penetrating contemplation is too much for him to take. The thrumming in his core picks up with his breathing and he has to look away.

Laszlo takes one of John’s hands then, thumb brushing over the damaged skin. 

John tries to pull away, but Laszlo holds firm. He balances John's have in his bad one, picking the towel from John's bath up and pressing it to the raw flesh. 

It stings and John makes a noise. "I've already cleaned it."

Laszlo hums and picks up John's other hand to inspect that one as well. "They'll have to be bandaged." He checks all of John's fingers, one at a time, trailing about the dangers of blood loss to the digits.

It's too much, too gentle, too considerate. He can feel himself start to harden. A dark corner of John’s mind the whispers traitorous things about how pain and humiliation are the only things that will ever bring him pleasure now. He shifts, trying to subtly adjust himself so it’s not too obvious.

"John?" Of course Laszlo is more than aware of John’s predicament. “Is it the pain?” There’s no judgment, not really, just an unfair, knowing curiosity.

John drops his head back against the edge of the tub. “Christ.” His chest flushes, shameful humiliation creeping up his neck to the tips of his ears.

“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about, John. It can be a perfectly natural physiological response to overwhelming stimuli.” 

The words sound so reasonable, so honest and understandable and John doesn’t want to think about how it’s all nonsense, a salve for those who Laszlo wishes were not meant to be locked away. 

Laszlo’s hand drifts farther down John’s body as he talks, but he stops short of actually touching John’s cock. “John?”

He’s trembling in the water, primal desire clouding any rational thought. Why shouldn’t he let Laszlo fulfill this curiosity of his? He’s already debased himself today, what’s a little more for a friend? Laszlo did bring out a perverse desire to feel useful in him. 

He tries to fight it, but he's so tired, bone and flesh weary. "Please," he almost chokes on the word, fully prepared to beg if Laszlo decides to not follow through now.

He feels like he's going to shake apart. Like he's going to split right down the middle. 

Laszlo takes John in his hand, cupping around him like a rare and fragile bird. It's more gentle than anyone, including himself, has touched him in a very long time. He makes a small noise, hating himself for needing this. When Laszlo strokes from base to tip John nearly weeps from gratitude. 

It's slow. Not tortuous, but indulgent. Laszlo is unerringly gently with John's bruised, tender flesh. He's almost reverent with care.

John makes the mistake of looking at Laszlo, of seeing feelings bared on his face that John sometimes doubted the existence of. It's his undoing. He spills himself on Laszlo's hand, a breathless cry slipping past his lips.

 

In the morning they find a quiet spot in the back of the train, heading back to New York. John curls into the corner and angles his aching body to lean against the side, facing the window. Across from him, Laszlo has done the same in an odd, subconscious mirroring. They’ve barely spoken and parts of John itch to bring up what happened between them, to pick it apart like he thinks Laszlo would, digging for some deep meaning. But Laszlo seems content to let it lie. John wonders if he regrets it if he won’t look at John in the same way, but, despite the quietness of the morning, the space between them feels almost normal. 

As the train pulls out of the station the rhythmic chugging lulls John into a light doze.

He startles awake, a wordless breathless cry falling from his lips. 

"John?" Laszlo's across from him, the line between his eyebrows deeper and his mouth a thin, unhappy line. His hand settles back against his leg as though he had stopped himself from reaching out. "You were talking in your sleep."

John’s breath stutters. "Nothing too scandalous, I hope." He aims for casual but doesn’t quite get there and Laszlo's eyebrows tighten for a moment. 

"Of course not," he smoothly soothes Johns' worry. "Nothing discernible." Laszlo is much better at hitting the casual tone, but it’s his eyes that betray him, gaze boring into John’s very soul and laying him barer than he was last night. 

The train whistle blows and Laszlo looks away, out the window, at the city coming into view. John matches the movement after a while, slowly turning to watch the looming buildings envelop the train. They’re almost home.


End file.
